Home Is Built Around The Heart: Sweets' Story
by Summers-Wind
Summary: Watch Sweets grow in to the person he is today, with a chapter for each year of his life. WARNING: Contains some abuse.
1. Age 1

_Hi. Welcome to my new story! It's my first attempt a a "Bones" fan fiction and I'm fairly new to it as a series, so please be gentle. It's actually semi-planned out, so hopefully it'll go somewhere. My plan is to have a chapter for every year of Sweets' life up until his current age. Please drop a review, if you've got time!_

Homes Are Built Around The Heart: Sweets' Story

**Age One:**

Becky Feller stood over the old stove, as she pulled the lid off of the frying pan. Tonight she was cooking chicken soup. They had been eating a lot of chicken soup lately. Since their farm had been suffering since most of the other farms around them had been bought out by some rich man in a suit who called himself a farmer, their business had been suffering. To add to the matters, the winter had been cold and dry, so the soil sucked. The chickens were easier to maintain then cows, so they got to stay.

In the background, she could hear a Frank Sinatra tune play on the radio and her very young son, Lance, whine a tiny, "Mmma!"

Putting the lid on the pot of soup, Becky grabbed four potatoes, one of the few things that they could grow on their damned farm, and rushed over to her son.

"Lance." Recognizing his name, the 11 month old moved, as best he could, towards the voice.

"Mmma!" the boy repeated.

"That's right." The woman encouraged, as Lance crawled towards her.

Unfortunately, the boy tripped on a rag doll, and fell on his belly.

He started to whine louder. It was never a full-out cry, however,

"Lance!" the woman called, picking up the potatoes. Gently, she tossed the four potatoes in a circle in front of her, slowly

Slowly rolling over, the boy let out a small giggle.

"That's right!" she encouraged him.

A moment of silence fell, just long enough for her to head the loud grumble of her husband, Michael's, truck.

Cursing to herself, she jumped up, and ran in to the kitchen.

There, the soup was boiling over the sides of the pot. Grabbing a dish towel, she turned off the stove, barely avoiding the flame to the towel.

A man in an old jacket, and sloppy clothing walked through the door, his booths making loud thumping noises as he walked.

Lance, let out a small giggle from the other room.

"The kid is supposed to be asleep now." He remarked, yanking out a chair from the kitchen table and plopping down on it.

Rebecca, who was by the stove, and giving the stove more interest than she should have, shrug her shoulders, in a barely noticeable way.

Michael grunted. "Make sure he's asleep next time."

The young woman nodded quickly and with the anxiousness of a mouse. She was tiny and barely out of adolescence herself. She couldn't have been more than 20, but she looked 16. Naturally, she was a bubbly woman, but the hard times had taken something out of her.

The man, was huge. He had large hands, large muscles, and was tall; there wasn't a small thing about him. He was older than she was, by three or four years, but he looked older than she simply because of genetics and he acted older than he was, anyways.

Of course he would intimidate her.

But he didn't stand up from his chair, so that must have meant something.

Another pause of noise fell upon the house, as the woman continued to add a touch of spice to the soup.

"I though I told you not to play music." The man grunted.

"But I like to play music," The woman said quietly, but in a loud enough voice, that the man's sensitive hunter's ears, could hear.

"It's too happy." He grumbled.

Becky walked behind him and began to rub his shoulders. Several seconds later, he jumped.

"WHAT THE HELL!?!?" he yelled.

"Wha--?" Becky looked up and saw the pot boiling over again. She rushed over to it, and turned off the stove, reaching for rags. Quickly, she soaked up the extra liquid, and turned it off.

Sighing, Becky didn't even notice Michael get up and walk over to. Not even thinking about it, he gave her a right hook. Gasping her throbbing eye, Becky quivered.

"You clumsy bitch!" The dominant male yelled. "You're good for nothing but juggling shit!"

Becky's mind temporarily froze, but not enough not to register the alcohol that was in his breath. She thought of the boy in his other room. Everything had changed when he came along. She loved him, but he couldn't be her son. And she'd do anything to make sure that he didn't know she let him grow up like this.

**Chapter Fin.**


	2. Age 2

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything._

_Please Note: I changed the name "**Becky Sweets" to "Becky Feller"**, as I think I want Sweets to pick up his adoptive parents' name._

**Chapter 2:**

Becky Feller was gone for the night at her best friends' bridal shower. Michael had reluctantly allowed her to go, and even he knew things would look fishy, if she didn't go.

This left Michael alone with Sweets alone for the evening. Michael looked over at the toddler napping in the old, faded blue and green playpen in the living room. Looking up, Michael looked up from his TV dinner and then up at the TV. The football game would be on momentarily, and he hoped to God that the kid wouldn't interrupt it.

It was the third quarter and the Baltimore Ravens were playing the Cleveland Browns. The Browns had just kicked a field goal, bringing them ahead of the ravens at a score of 10-7.

"DAMNIT!!" Michael kicked the old, wooden coffee table.

The loud noises awoke a sleeping boy. "Mommyy!!" the 20 month old baby whined. "Mommmmyy!!" he then continued to whine.

"I'm not your mommy!" Michael boomed.

At the boom, the boy began to cry again, in an unpleasant sound that came out like like the hiccups or boiling water.

Giving Lance a disgusted look, Michael grumbled, "Whatdaya want, kid?!"

The boy was extremely responsive. "C-c-cup-p."

Roughly and suddenly picking the kid up out of the playpen under the boys arms, Michael tromped into the kitchen. Quickly looking around and not finding what he was looking for, Michael talked to his son. "Your mother is a stupid bitch, you know that? She has to do exactly ONE thing around this house and she can't even do that! She can't even remember to keep your cups clean! Or you!"

Tromping up the stairs, still holding Lance by his arms, Michael dropped the toddler semi- gently down by the stairs and rushed into the toddler's room. Finding the red and blue sippy- cup that he was looking for, he rushed back to the stairs, only to hear the loud, definitive clomps of the boy making his way down the stairs. Suddenly hearing a loud, fast paced clammer, Michael realized that Lance had fallen down at least the last 6 stairs. She stairs were all small and close to each other, which made Lance's fall quick. It was amazing that the boy had not fallen earlier.

Making his way down the stairs, and hearing the game on in the background and remembering what he was missing, which made him become even more furious.

The little boy began to wail at the top of his lungs. Giving the kid a one- over, nothing looked like it was bleeding, though he could see massive red spots on the back of the boys head and elbows, and other places he didn't see. They were sure going to bruise. He didn't see anything broken or bleeding; and if Becky found anything, than it was her problem.

"You little Bastard!" Michael screamed over his son's wailing. "Look what'ya made me miss!" Yanking the boy up by the arms, and running with him over to the playpen, Michael set the boy in the playpen. The boy continued to wail.

"Fuck." Michael muttered. "I lose my job for no fucking reason; my wife goes to a party; my kid falls down the fucking stairs; and the Ravens lose the fucking game." Michael stood up.

Looking over at the still wailing boy, Michael screamed over the noise. "FUCK!!"

Not even thinking about it, Michael kicked the wooden coffee table in front with all his might and watched it split into shards, just like everything else in his life.

**Chapter Fin.**

_A/N: I changed the stair scene, so that Lance didn't fall down the entire staircase. I didn't want to **push** too **much**, too soon. IDK... what do **you** think?_


	3. Age 3

**A/ N: Hey, I'm really sorry it took so long to get this chapter up! I've been working on it for a few weeks, so hopefully it turned out okay.**

**WARNING: Contains child abuse and some pretty coarse language.  
**

**Chapter 3:**

Lance played with the truck that his parents got from the Goodwill for Christmas. Picking up a plastic, green Reptar toy from his aunt and uncle and crashing is against the truck, he giggled.

Then he hit the two toys together again, this time slightly harder, and giggled again.

He was completely oblivious to the fight that was going on 10 feet from him.

"You bitch!" Michael slapped Becky. "Don't call me off!"

"You SLEPT with another woman, and you expect me to stand here like nothing's wrong?!"

"You're MY wife. And what do you do? Flirt shamelessly with other men!"

"Would you love me, if I was anything else?" Becky demanded.

"Don't put me in this situation!"

Michael watched as Becky reached her hand out in front of her. She still had a knife in her hand from cooking dinner in the kitchen. It waved in her hand.

"Don't make me do it! I will hurt you!" One could easily hear the trepidation and trembling in Becky's voice.

Nervously, Becky juggled the knife in one hand between the handle and the sharp, but broken tip of the it.

Reaching behind him, Michael yanked an old, glass lamp out of the socket and held it in front of him. In his defense, it was in self defense.

Becky gulped. "You see that shit by the door?" The young woman's voice shook and she didn't dare look behind her at the suitcase and two boxes she had packed. "I'm leaving, Michael."

"You don't have the guts to do that, woman!"

"Don't call me 'woman'! And I mean it! I'm leaving!" She shouted, cautiously back-stepping towards the door.

Michael smirked.

"For good." She added definitively, her voice somehow not cracking. And in that moment, Michael believed her.

With that, Becky rushed to the door, and pulled her suitcase out the door. She tossed it bed of the old red truck, then came back in to grab the two small boxes. She didn't even bother closing the door, before tossing the boxes in the truck bed, and starting the motor of the truck.

Michael watched her drive as fast as she could out of the driveway and not look back.

"FUCK!" Michael exclaimed, the lamp flying from his hands to the wall, where Lance was giggling, oblivious to what was going on.

Hitting the boy square in the head, had not been his intention. But it did. It took a minute for the toddler to process the shock, before beginning to wail.

The little boy continued to wail. And wail. And he didn't stop. And Michael didn't know what to do.

Roughly, he reached for the toddler, and picked him up from the arms.

Trying to bounce the boy up and down, the boy continued to scream.

There was some blood. On his forehead, and under his eye, a couple tears of blood slithered down his face. He could see a share of glass was stuck in the boys upper lip. He would need some kind of medical attention.

Michael could blame it on Becky, then said she'd fled, so she wouldn't get in trouble.

He always blamed it on Becky.

**Chapter fin.**

**A/N: What did you think? Please review?**


	4. Age 4

**A/N: I hadn't had a definitive, "You know you're obsessed with Bones, when..." moment until recently. Here it is: "You know you're obsessed with Bones when you visit your friend at school in Malibu and your first thought is, "Doesn't Hart Hanson live in Malibu?" Then, almost every other thought also involves Hart Hanson and his location... Yeah... O.o**

**Anyway, Please tell me what you think of the chapter; I hope it's okay! =]**

**Age 4:**

Michael's sister had been watching Sweets for the evening, while Michael went out for "sports night with the guys". Lilly had a good idea that sports night, was more like, "get drunk" night and she knew that her brother drank more than his buds, who were slowly disappearing from sports night, but she didn't say anything.

He was her little brother and she knew that sooner or later, she would have to talk to someone. For her brother's sake. Lance's sake.

After the four year old boy finally conked out, she did her best to pick up the toys they had played with in his room, as quietly as she could.

He didn't have much. Two toy trucks, a few action figures, some with missing limbs, a couple stuffed animals. But he didn't know that he didn't have much, so he didn't care. He was always happy when someone played with him.

Tripping on a truck and feeling a slight pain in her bare foot, Lilly tried not to cry out. Picking up the truck and moving it to the side of the room, Lilly turned a lamp, so no one else would trip, and left the room.

Making her way downstairs, Lilly got comfortable on the touch and turned on the TV. Settling on the Simpsons, she waited for her brother to return.

An hour past. Two hours. Three. Four. At four, Lilly fell asleep. Five hours passed. Six. At five AM, Michael walked in the house, tottering back and forth, his walk unstable as a toddlers.

"Hi, Willy!" He grinned.

"Hello, Michael."

"I had fun tonight!" He exclaimed, trying to pull his jacket off.

"Good for you, Michael." Lilly yawned and sat up, trying not too sound to nice or mean to her obviously drunk brother.

"You can go homes, now, Willy." Michael told Lilly.

"I'll stay, if that's okay."

"Iz snotz." Michael said. "This is my house." Michael said matter- of- facty.

"I don't want to leave you alone, when you're in this state." Lilly told her brother.

"Waz statez?!" Michael asked.

"This drunk one!"

"I'm notz drunkz!'

"You are!" Lilly insisted.

"No!" Michael protested, his voice sounding like a child's.

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"NO!" Michael boomed, suddenly spotting the cattle whip hung up on a nail posted into the wall, behind him.

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'M SNOTS!!" Michael reached behind him and found the whip with his hand.

"I think I'm going to go now..." Lilly backed up towards the front door.

"Yez, you arez-z-z."

Following Lilly's departure, Michael stumbled up the stairs, to go to bed. He didn't remember that the whip was in his hand. It wasn't the first thing on his mind.

He opened the door to check on his son- it was a habit- muscle memory- walking into the room, he slipped on one of Lance's trucks. The whip flew from his hand. Composing himself, he found himself reaching for the whip, and making his way over to the startled child he woke- whip in hand.

**Chapter Fin.**


	5. Age 5

**Warning: THIS CHAPTER IS GRAPHIC AND IT IS AS GRAPHIC AS THIS STORY WILL GET.**

**A/N: I had some help from the people over on the "Realism" section on the NaNoWriMo site, so thank you to them. Also, thank you, as there were considerably more reviews for the last chapter than previous ones!  
**

**Age 5:**

One night, Michael went to the bar, per usual, and left Lance alone. Lilly honestly couldn't be with Lance every second of the day- she had work at the restaurant and this particular night, she had the night shift. Her money payed for much of Lance's clothes and school supplies.

"There's TV dinners in the freezer, you know how to use the TV, I'll be back later. Don't do anything stupid." Michael muttered to the young boy, pulling on his coat, and slamming the door behind him.

Lance nodded, which was the only thing he could manage to do.

He went into the kitchen and opened the freezer. Finding one of the dinners with the penguins on them, which he knew were for him, he looked at the back for the directions. He could read most of them. He was the best reader in his grade, his teacher, Miss. Tyler, told him. She said he was very, "gifted" and could probably take a second grade reading class next year, if he tried really hard and did the homework.

Poking holes in the plastic with a fork and putting the dinner in the microwave, Lance waited. He thought about his math homework, which was due tomorrow, and he would not do. Why would he do it? Addition and subtraction were really easy to him. Science was to write about the sea animals they had learned about in class. He liked science, but what would writing about them do?

Art homework was to draw a picture of his family. He liked art. In class, Ms. Tyler said that families were your Mommies and Daddies and Brothers and Sisters and Grandmas and Grandpas and Pets. She didn't say anything about Aunties and he didn't want his classmates to think he was weird, because he didn't have a mommy.

Going over to the kitchen table, he pulled a perfectly sharpened crayon from the box (none of them were broken and he was very proud of that fact.) He drew a picture of his Aunt Lilly in the center, with him on the right, holding her hand, in normal proportionate sizes. Then, he drew his dad super big and super tall, on the far left. He drew some of the animals on the farm, including the pig, Maybelle, who was his favorite animal. Lastly, he puts names above everyone's heads: Dad, Mom, Me, Maybelle. His dad wouldn't see the picture and neither would his Aunt Lilly, so what did it matter, anyway?

After eating dinner, he left abandoned it on the counter and sat down on the couch and turned on _The Rugrats_. There were few parents in the show, which made him think that it was normal for parents not to be around... Maybe kids were supposed to learn on their own...

Very carefully, he lied down on the couch, careful of his left shoulder blade which stung and burned in pain if he lied down too quickly or snuggled too hard. Wincing, he reached down to the end of the couch and pulled the blanket his aunt kept on the end of the couch over his body. He didn't fall asleep there intentionally, but the young boy was exhausted from his full day at school and after school care.

The next thing he remembered, was a loud shattering noise. He pulled himself out of his sleepy state, knowing that his father was never far from loud noises. Quickly jerking up, he tried to ignore the burning, tingling feeling in his back. He briefly though about how gross and pussy they looked. He bit his lip, like he usually did to help relieve the pain. And it did help... a little bit.

"WHAT THE EFF DID YOU DO?!?!" Michael boomed.

Lance looked around, remembering that he was on the couch.

Something didn't look right... it wasn't the TV, or the chair, it was... his grandma's china cabinet?

Not knowing what to say, and knowing that not responding would most likely cause even more pain, Lance shrugged his shoulders in a tiny movement, his left shoulder not really moving up at all.

"ANSWER ME, BOY!" Michael screamed, his voice deep.

"I don't know, Dad." Lance answered, just loudly enough for Michael to hear clearly.

"YOU DO! How the EFF did this happen?! I come home this mornin', go to bed, then wake up to this, which means it musta happened when I was gone."

"I- I'm sorry."

"Like hell, you better be." The large man muttered.

There was a beat of silence. "I'm sorry." Lance apologized again, not risking looking down at his feet, in case his father came lunging towards him.

"Get over here." Michael demanded in a non-negotiable voice.

Lance tried to move. He wanted to, but he felt frozen.

"I said. GET OVER HERE!"

Still frozen in fear, Michael lunged towards Lance and grabbed his left shoulder from the front. Pushing Lance face down, he regained his balance.

Lance's shoulder blade was pushed back as he fell and he let out a cry of pain. His Aunt Lilly had said something along the lines of, "infected, because of lack of treatment." (Not that he remembered those words, but he did remember, "infected".)

"Don't move." Michael reached for his belt loop and pulled the whip from it's resting place at his hip. Letting it out of it's coil, he spoke to Lance. "Take off your shirt." he instructed.

Lance did what he was told, as quickly as his injuries would allow.

Seeing Lance's left shoulder blade, Michael took a whack at Lance's right shoulder blade, instead. The first time, the whip didn't touch Lance, but he could feel the air pressure and it stung.

Then Michael cracked the whip again, this time the whip touching his skin- but only the area of the shoulder blade. Michael knew how to use the whip.

Lance considered looking back to see if the whip was coming again, but decided against it. His father had always stopped at two times in a row in the past.

Michael cracked the whip again, this time criss- crossing the previous mark. This time, there was pain on top of the burning. Lance couldn't think of anything but the pain, and the time seemed to go slowly. Extremely slower than time does go for a child.

Lance swore that he heard the whip crack again before it hit his skin. But with the contact to his shoulder blade, Lance's world turned to a soundless dark.

**Chapter Fin.**


End file.
